


The Auto-Shop Conspiracy

by Tooti_Fruity



Series: Cacophony and Entropy and Apathy In NYC [10]
Category: Futurama
Genre: 1990s AU, Human Bender, M/M, aka kelly and sullivan are the only decent people at tillman auto apparently lmao, basically benders being gayer than normal and his coworkers are suspicious about it, f slur & q slur & many many more, this one is spicy with the slurs boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 00:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13155282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tooti_Fruity/pseuds/Tooti_Fruity
Summary: Sullivan wasn't a nosy man by nature, but when Parker insists that their boss, Bender Rodríguez, is acting strangely, he can't help but agree.And the second he finds out why, he feels like a fucking idiot.





	The Auto-Shop Conspiracy

**Author's Note:**

> this shit is super gay you guys, bon apple titties, children of the frender cult

“Something is up, Sullivan,”

Sullivan glanced up from the engine he was working on, confusion coloring his features as he made eye contact with his worker.

“Pardon?” he responded, not putting the wrench down.

“I said,” Parker elaborated. “Something is up,”

“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time, but-I’m really sorry, I’m confused right now. Honestly, weird shit is always happening here; it’s like, our calling card, yeah?” Parker waved off the observation, persistent as always.

“No, I mean. Rodríguez  . He’s acting weird,” he explained. “He’s been puttering around with his head in the fuckin clouds, he keeps taking calls on shift from someone who makes him all schmaltzy, he’s been. In a good mood. And it’s fucking WEIRD,” Sullivan smiled softly.

“Hey, if it makes him ride our asses less about mistakes, I’d say let it be. If he’s happy enough to not micromanage everything we do, more power to him,” he said, leaning back under the hood of his client’s car. Parker groaned.

“Well, I don’t trust it, Sullivan. Anything that’s got him this happy is bound to put him in a piss poor mood when it falls apart. And I don’t want to be on the receiving end of-”

“-his wrath when he notices your shoddy work and blows up on your for accidentally pouring paint into a client’s radiator,” Sullivan supplied briskly, earning him a sour glare from his coworker. “Seriously, Parker, leave it alone. Let the man stay up on cloud nine; he can’t yell at you from up there,” Parker bristled, shaking his head.

“Well, if you’re gonna be a fuckin dildo about it, I guess I’ll just have to get to the bottom of this myself,” he snapped, turning on his heal and striding away. He stopped after a few steps, however, to turn and face Sullivan once more, hissing, “And for the record, smartass, that was _one time_ ,”

Sullivan smiled behind his hand as soon as Parker was out of sight.

******************************

It was nearly a week later when Sullivan entered the break room at lunch to find his coworkers, sans Parson and Rodríguez, gathered in a small circle. He did a double take on his way to the fridge, dumbfounded to find nearly everyone in one place, and promptly scowled when he heard the topic of discussion.

“…and it just doesn’t seem normal. He’s been loony for nearly a month now, barely acknowledges anyone, head in the fuckin clouds…” Parker was saying, gesturing wildly. Sullivan audibly groaned.

“Are you fucking serious, Jayson?” he said, facepalming. “You’re _still_ hung up on the Rodríguez thing? I told you, your ass is grass if you piss him off again!” Parker glared at him, and all those with their backs to Sullivan turned to face him.

“Clearly these guys don’t think I’m stupid for bringing it up,” he snapped. A soft murmur of agreement followed; it was Tucker who spoke up first.

“You can’t deny things have seemed off lately, Allen,” she reasoned. “We’re only curious and a little concerned; something terrible is coming, we can all feel it,”

He hesitated, giving it real thought; he would hate to be the odd one out over something so trivial, and it’s not like Parson and Rodríguez were his friends or anything.

Ah, what the hell.

“Okay, I fold. Now, get me up to speed on what you guys think is happening…”

******************************

Rodríguez was completely pussywhipped.

It took nearly two weeks following the breakroom emergency meeting, but by that point, the group had managed to collectively acquire various clues to have a reasonable suspicion that this was the case for “Operation: Sourpants”.

(“That name is dumb, Parker!”)

(“Shut up, it’s brilliant!”)

The evidence included a note from Rodríguez containing a jab at his height sandwiched between affectionate sentiments (which would’ve had to have been from someone he loved, considering how the man had a Napoleon complex the size of Canada), a record 13 personal calls, 4 lunch breaks spent away from the shop with some mystery person, and one bizarre encounter involving his roommate.

The man who lived with Bender was…well, Sullivan hated being judgmental, but he was just _weird_. He flapped his hands when he got excited, usually about space and other nerdy shit, and he wore the same jacket every single day, even in summer, and he was so tall, well over six foot, that it had become an in joke among the shop that he hit his head on the doorway every time he visited, which was often. He laughed too loud, and he hugged Rodríguez a lot, which was made even weirder because his boss didn’t seem to _care_ , despite being one of the most prickly people he knew, and he was maybe the only person who could draw a smile out of his roommate consistently, no matter what had occurred only moments prior.

He had entered the shop around noon one day around the middle of the second week, bubbly and nervous, and he had requested his friend, insisting that they were set to have lunch together. And Sullivan, being the nice person he felt he was, had gone to warn him that Rodríguez wasn’t feeling so well and had been a little grouchy all morning.

He didn’t seem phased at all.

“Oh, I know! Bender always get tired this time of year, and I think he might’ve caught something. I tried making him soup, but we haven’t finished unpacking at our new place, and I couldn’t find a can opener. We’re having a movie marathon tonight, so he’ll probably feel better in the morning,” he had explained.

And sure enough, it was like someone had flipped a switch on Rodríguez when he emerged from his darkened office. He was already on the verge of a rant; he had been to confined to do paperwork due to him possibly being contagious, and all the legal jargon was a quick way to piss him off.

His eyes lit up when he saw his roommate.

“Fry! I wasn’t gonna leave for at least half an hour, buddy. You usually meet me for lunch there,” The other man flushed, grinning sheepishly.

“Well, I got off a little early because business was a little slow today, so I figured I should come by and let you know. Sorry if I interrupted your work,” he replied. Rodríguez shook his head, beaming.

“Hell no, you’re a regular knight in shining armor; I was dying back there, man. Now let’s bounce, this place is giving me osteoporosis. Kelly, Sullivan, you’re in charge until I get back in an hour,”

And before he could reply, Sullivan had already watched them leave, Rodríguez pulling his roommate by the wrist like an impatient child. The last of their conversation that was audible didn’t escape him, however, and it only left him more confused than ever.

“So if I’m the knight, does that make you the princess?”

“Don’t push your fuckin luck, sweet cheeks,”

******************************

Sullivan wasn’t an idiot.

He wasn’t the smartest guy, but he certainly wasn’t dumb enough to miss all the signs. And once he caught them, it was obvious.

Rodríguez was fucking, or dating, or doing something equally gay with his roommate.

All the pieces fit; the note joking about his height, which couldn’t have come from his much shorter booty call (former booty call?) Amy Wong. The phone calls that were peppered with descriptors that fit his roommate to a T (calling him “small fry”, commenting on his red hair, saying he was a fuckin giant). The mystery lunch dates that were clearly routine for them, confirmed to be with Fry by the interaction that day in the shop.

The only part that made no sense was, well, Rodríguez _didn’t seem gay_.

Sure, it’s not like he was ugly, but the guy did err on the short side and come off as brazen. Yet, despite that, it seemed he got a decent amount of lays, and he wasn’t against throwing back a rum-and-coke on a Friday at The Copper Penny with the guys and recounting his very specifically _heterosexual_ encounters. He talked loud, and he swore like a sailor with a gunshot wound, and he didn’t know anything about high fashion, only ever seen in sweatshirts or flannels. He didn’t speak with a lisp or shout camp phrases, and he smoked and drank and-

-and Sullivan was overthinking this.

Not every single gay person was exactly the same; hell, Kelly and Amber were diametric opposites, and they were both lesbians. It was the 1990s, for Christ’s sake; he should’ve know better than to let cheap stereotypes blind him to reality.

 _I’m not a bad person_ , he told himself. _I just don’t get the appeal of-well-fooling around with another man. Besides, as long as they keep that gay shit far away from me, who gives a fuck what two guys in their own apartment do-_

Oh.

Rodríguez and Fry had just gotten their first apartment together last month, right around the time Rodríguez started acting weird.

Shit, he really was an idiot.

******************************

Sullivan wasn’t going to out Rodríguez to the shop. It wasn’t any of his business, and just because he had put two and two together didn’t mean he had any right to share his discovery.

Besides, if everyone else was too dense to catch the obvious hints and figure it out when it made _him_ feel like a dumbass for missing it, then they didn’t have any right to know.

No, if there was one thing Sullivan knew, it was how to keep his mouth shut.

******************************

His efforts had been for naught.

It was all over, and he knew it when he heard a commotion from the break room following Rodríguez pulling his daily disappearing act at lunch.

“…wouldn’t believe it! Rodríguez is a total fag-”

Oh boy. He gingerly cracked the door open, listening in.

“Bullshit. You’re bluffing, Parker,” he heard Jennings say. “Rodríguez is into chicks,”

“No fucking way, man, I saw it with my own eyes! I came in late last night because I left my keys on my hook, and I walked in on Rodríguez shoving his roommate against a wall!” he insisted. Sullivan cringed.

“I don’t buy it. Are you sure they weren’t just fighting or something?” Tucker chimed in, clearly invested despite her efforts to seem like she wasn’t. Parker snorted.

“Sure, if your definition of fighting includes yanking your weird roommate down by his shirt collar and sticking your tongue down his throat. It was nasty; I felt like doing shots of bleach after to forget about it,” he cried with vigor. The other guys could be heard audibly groaning.

“That’s fucking sick, dude! I don’t wanna hear about that faggy shit!” Dixon snapped. And suddenly, a horrifying realization seemed to hit him. “Shit, man, you don’t think they’ve fucked here, do you?” Parker sighed dramatically.

“I have no idea, but I wouldn’t put it past them; you know how queers get. They’d probably do it at a morgue if they got the chance, perverts, all of them,”

Sullivan felt sick all of a sudden; maybe he should’ve gone out for lunch today.

******************************

The rumor mill churns fast.

It’s for this reason that Sullivan comes into work early the next day to find Rodríguez and Parker having words in the middle of the empty shop.

“…sick and twisted! And you know it! Why couldn’t have you have to kept that faggy shit to yourself, you bastard?! Stop lying, I saw you and your loser _boyfriend_ ,” he sneered. He put emphasis on the word “boyfriend” like the very term offended him, as though its use between two men was worse than an actual slur. Sullivan winced; he could understand why Rodríguez had kept his private life so private.

“Don’t call my boyfriend a freak! And my personal life is none of your business, you piece of shit!” Rodríguez bit back. “And what the fuck were you even doing here late? Did you come to watch us or some shit?!” Parker let out a snarl; it seemed like the last straw, to be accused of what he considered deviant behavior, and he launched himself at Rodríguez.

It took Sullivan a second to realize that, besides the two of them, he was the only one in the shop at the moment. And that meant the responsibility fell to him to mitigate the brawl occurring on the floor. He rushed forward, pulling Parker, who had the upper hand at the moment, off of Rodríguez. He shook him wildly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Do you _want_ to get fired? And who gives a shit if he has a boyfriend?!” he screamed at the other man. Parker gnashed his teeth at him, probably trying to look threatening; it wasn’t working this time.

“What, are you a faggot now too? Are you trying for a threesome with Rodrí-”

He was on the floor, unconscious, in seconds, nose gushing blood from where Sullivan had punched him. Sullivan kept his eyes on the floor, attempting to steady his breathing and refusing to meet Rodríguez’s gaze.

Eventually, his head snapped up as a reflex when Rodríguez cleared his throat.

“I…um. Good on you, Sullivan. Thanks for, uh, backing me up. And not being a major boner biter,” he mumbled, sincerely. Sullivan suddenly felt very tired.

“It was the decent thing to do. It doesn’t bother me who you date or fuck or whatever, and it shouldn’t bother Parker either, but he’s a massive prick so…” He shrugged helplessly. “Really, it was obvious once I gave it some thought. And I guess I don’t get how you’re, you know, but…we’re cool, Rodríguez. Parker was out of line,” he finished. Rodríguez didn’t speak for a moment, seeming to be taking it all in, and he let out a small, humorless laugh.

“Thanks, man. Go take the day off; I’ll tell them you’ve got the flu or something,” he offered. But Sullivan shook his head.

“Nah, I’m fine. You’re the one who looks like he just got out of a fist fight. Go home and let your roommate-I mean, uh, boyfriend-patch you up. I’ll just tell them Parker attacked you and that you needed to get home to clean up. I got your back, man,”

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Rodríguez look more grateful.

“God fuckin bless you, dude. And, uh, I owe you one,” Sullivan waved it off.

“Seriously, it’s cool,” Rodríguez made a move to grab his sweatshirt and wiped some of the blood from his face. Sullivan moved to stop him.

“Oh, and, um, tell Fry I send my regards and that I’m gonna do my best to make sure Parker gets the boot. He’s a shit mechanic and, apparently, a bigot,” he added.

Rodríguez smiled, nodding at the other man, and he was out the door in under a minute. Sullivan sighed.

He had about half an hour to clean up the pool of Parker’s blood off the cement floor.

“Well, at least someone’s getting some,” he mumbled, walking off to the closet to grab a mop.


End file.
